


A Storm

by AthanatosOra



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Angst, Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Tumblr Prompts getting out of hand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-16 23:55:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5845885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AthanatosOra/pseuds/AthanatosOra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“A Storm.” Gokudera Hayato is a true Storm. His world starts as a world of grey, the prelude to a truly devastating tempest, the dark clouds looming and casting a dark gloom. Destruction, unrelenting winds and devastation. Blood is spilt, it’s Red flows.</i>
</p>
<p>  <i>... But not always.</i></p>
<p>  <i>A Storm cannot be contained or controlled. But it can be given a purpose.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Originally an ask posted on [tumblr](http://athanatosora.tumblr.com/post/137795517035/sorry-i-wasnt-really-clear-with-my-question-the). We got to talking, and this happened.

He is born into a world of grey.

Bleak, monochromatic colours, a parallel to the life he leads. Nothing but expectations and demands; a detached sort of living. (Only it wasn’t living at all, and the unease set in early.)

His mother is the _only one_. His sister too, somewhat, but she is their father’s still. Their father’s “perfect child.”

(No matter how he tries, he cannot be, for the blood that runs through his veins is not accepted by _everyone else_. Image. Status. It is important. “What about happiness?” he’d ask. Silence is his answer.)

But he thinks, ponders. What _is_ happiness?

His mother. His mother, with a warm smile, her delicate touch and the magic that flows from her fingers. “ _Music_.“

She brings life to his world, and sets the strange, discontented roiling under his skin at ease. A mother’s touch, a mother’s compassion and acceptance. Only she, only his mother.

For all that the greys and bleak surroundings unnerve him, he likes his hair. Because it is like his mother’s, and his mother represents safety. Contentment. And… Love.

_But she dies_. She dies, she _leaves_ , and with her takes his safe place. His stability. His  _happiness_.

He is a _bastard child_. Unsuited. Soiled. Shameful. No matter how he tries, _tried_ , he was never to reach the heights his sister could. Had.

With his mother’s passing, he loses the internal struggle. He loses the battle with the whispers, the odd unease that he could never put a name to, that feeling that sputtered and faltered before ever truly sparking to life. His discontent culminates full force, and like a dam, his world is flooded in a deep, furious red.

He _rages_.

He rages, he hates, he _loathes_. Hates his mother for leaving him. Hates his father for never seeing him for _him_ , for thinking it is never enough. Hates his sister for always being the better child for something as simple and unchangeable as _blood_. Hates the families for sneering and looking down their noses at him, the illegitimate child. Loathes the world for his existence, for being forced to live this warring, unstable life.

He becomes a hitman, finding no other avenue to take. He is a genius of sorts, but that has never been _enough_ , and it isn’t until he bursts into red flame in wrathful fury that everyone actually _looks_ at him. Not at the bastard, not at his father’s mistake, not at the young lady’s erroneous little brother. They look at him and see _Hayato Gokudera_ , the child they have shamed, and _tremble_. It is not the acknowledgement he always dreamed of, but it is enough. (He accepts it with a bitter, spiteful sort of pride, and his flames hiss in pleasure)

His world has gone from dull greys to explosive red, the colour of hatred, anger, blood. He realizes that it is not better—that it is _dangerous_ —but relishes the splash of colour regardless. Because it is _his_.

His world becomes painted in death. The smells of smoke and gunpowder cling to him, ash and dust the colour of his hair are left in his wake, soaked in the deep crimson of blood. He is a Storm in the center of chaos, and the last one standing in grave victory. He knows it is worse. Morals do not exist in this world and he is in the downward spiral that leads to a grave-less, worthless death. But he knows no other way of living.

He is the hurricane bomb, who lives a life of perpetuating greys and reds. His path is one of destruction, and he leaves trails of death and desolation in his wake.

(He once dreamt of his fingers becoming magic like his mother’s. Of recognition and applause and acceptance and _love_. Of creating magic with his own two hands, of bringing joy and colour to those round him. But instead, he paints his world in the red of blood and anger, and washes off the aftermath at the day’s end.)

He is angry, lost, unfulfilled, and grasping at life’s tethers as he struggles to find purchase in the down ward spiral.

He knows no other way of living.

 

* * *

 

He meets a young Sawada Tsunayoshi.

Pathetic, useless, stupid, _dame—_ all apt descriptors of the weak-looking candidate _._  He is a wisp of a boy that doesn’t know what death is like, hasn’t faced death even once, and lives a charmed life.

He is set for a stable, comfortable position in the Mafia that Hayato could never hope to dream of. Because he has inherited it.  _Because of his blood_.

He knows that he could never actually become Vongola’s leader even if he killed the boy. He knows that Reborn doesn’t _actually_ want the kid dead, and plans for Hayato to become a Storm guardian.

(He loathes it. He loathes Reborn, loathes the _brat_ , and would rather kill him and be on the run for the rest of his life. He didn’t like being chucked into expectations and molds before, and he isn’t about to serve under some spineless brat _now_.)

But something changes. The boy, Tsunayoshi, saves him.

Hayato knows it doesn’t mean much. He knows this boy still views him as a stranger, but no one has ever risked their life to save _him_.

This boy doesn’t know about the Mafia. He still has that innocence, that _will to save others just because_. And he just saved Hayato’s life.

(It is damning, it is _foolish,_ especially for someone like him who has seen the most worthy of targets and fellow hitmen. Has seen just what they were capable of, _knew_ that he couldn’t trust them precisely _because_ they were good. He has always had his guard up. And for him, the hurricane bomb, to place such trust in a _civilian kid_ his age…

… But perhaps, he realizes, this is precisely the reason. Hayato knows people, knows intent, and can see that Tsunayoshi is sincere. Can see that he truly _wants_ him, wants a friend.

Wants _Hayato_ , who knows only feigned smiles and secretive plots.)

Tsuna is a chance, he realizes. He is the one, if any, who could lead him out of his spiral. He is _hope_ , not just for Hayato, but for the Mafia world.

He takes the Decimo candidate’s hand and decides. Jyūdaime will be his Sky, and he shall be the raging Storm that guards it. The Storm that deals out the punishment when too harsh, that handles the dirty work that he should not.

Only one. Only Jyūdaime.

He lends his strength only to Jyūdaime.

 

* * *

 

... At least, that's how it was supposed to be.

It was only supposed to be Jyūdaime. One person was all Hayato ever needed for stability, for a smidgeon of happiness.

But it _isn’t_ just one. Because before Hayato even realizes it, his world grows, expands, and suddenly his world is awash with colour.

Yamamoto Takeshi, for all his aggravatingly blasé comments in day-to-day life, isn’t nearly as foolish and ignorant as he first appeared. He is a true rain, with his calming aura and ability to soothe, but it just as capable as the rest in efficiently battling, showing true strength—the strength of a torrential downpour, flooding. An underestimated threat, and yet, one that Hayato knows he would never have to fear, one that he knows he can trust to have his back. Calming shades of blue and cyan enter Hayato’s world.

Bovino Lambo is a noisy, rowdy, spoiled little brat that constantly grates on Hayato’s nerves. And yet, they are both children born from Mafia families, Mafia families that have more or less cast them away. Lambo is not the irritable child he was in the beginning, however similar he still appears, and Hayato knows that for all that the child is the youngest of the group and the most foolhardy, he is also the bravest, understanding the vast difference in power separating himself from the others, yet still willing to be the shield to protect them all. Shades of green add a splash of youth and hope.

Sasagawa Ryōhei is block-headed, loud, and terribly impulsive without much care for the repercussions of the actions he takes. But he is a passionate teen, one that channels his boundless energy to heal, to protect, and advocate the ones he loves, and it is a quality that Hayato can respect from the deepest confines of the self. His world is full of passion and energy, and Hayato cannot find it within himself to hate it. Obtrusive and loud shades of bright yellow flash amongst the other colours, but energize and cheer instead of overwhelm.

Hibari Kyōya is aloof and somewhat offensive in his disregard for others, and his penchant for battle often adds to the risk of a battle sparking between them. He is a Cloud, and his disregard for _Tsuna_ grates on Hayato’s nerves in the beginning. And yet, Hibari is arguably one of the most attentive regarding Tsuna besides himself, a result of having begun to see Tsuna as a truly formidable individual. And for all that the teen is as much of a Cloud as an individual can be, it is also clear that he is _loyal_ —he dislikes crowding, but there is no other group, no other Sky, that he would ever even think to follow. Quiet, subtle shades of purple lurk in the background, accenting the Sky’s dusk and dawn.

Rokudo Mukuro and Dokuro Chrome are two sides of the same coin with as many similarities as differences. Where Mukuro is greatly secretive and unwilling to share his inner thoughts out of spite, Chrome operates on a level of compassion and understanding, and a shyness that necessitates her need for secrecy. Mukuro is deceptive, and Chrome is meek. But when needed, they’ve both proved contrary—Mukuro _would_ sacrifice himself for them despite his supposedly selfish outlook, and Chrome can show that she is a true lion-heart when faced with a threat against her family. Indigo blurs in the background, existing at a distance until the other colours come to call.

Sawada Tsunayoshi was the first to add colour to his world that was not his own, of course. He is the one that made the full spectrum a possibility; he is the Sky that holds them all. The warm orange of the Sky at sunset and dawn, Sun sitting on the horizon, Clouds interspersed across the Sky painting hues of purple, indigo, and blue in an amalgamation of colour.

And with Hayato’s inclusion, do the hues grow ever brighter with intensity.

Hayato’s world is no longer painted in dull black and white, and he is no longer a little charleychaplin man motioning silently in a world as he silently screams and thrashes.

His world is no longer painted in dulled greys and blood red of _DeathDestructionDecay_ as he steadily makes his way down that spiral to madness, unknowing of any other paths to take.

And Jyūdaime, _Tsuna_ , he _understands_.

Yamamoto, Lambo, Ryōhei, Chrome, even Hibari and Mukuro understand. They understand the unspoken loyalty, the unspoken plea, and they silently reciprocate and confirm—he is  _their Storm_.

He is not a weapon, either. Because for all that Hayato is fully _willing_ to put himself out there, completely unabashed to volunteer to do anything for Jyūdaime, he soon comes to realize it is unnecessary. Against the Varia, Millefiore and Byakuran, Daemon Spade, Simon, even _Checkerface_ , they all prove that they are just as capable as him to fight for themselves. To fight for each other. To fight _together_ , to achieve their mutual goals.

They are his family, they are his home. Red is no longer hatred, anger, fury, and a prelude to destruction. It is no longer a hateful colour as he rages against the world for all that he felt it had wronged him and lead him to the pitiful life he once held.

Red is a colour for _passion_.

Passion for life, for love, for his family. His _family_.

A Storm never rests, but it doesn’t have to. It is in the vast skies that a Storm brews—and with it, the others accompany him. He is not alone.

He is a Storm, uncontrolled and unyielding.

But he is alone no longer.


End file.
